Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

"This is a very dangerous game that you are playing," the man in front of her told her sounding as if he was amused by some part of that thought. He looked measurably older every time that she came to see him. In truth, that was a large part of why she came. She took pleasure in watching the physical evidence of the end of his time in power creep over him. She certainly did not bother to make time in her day to listen to his sparkling conversation.

"You would know all about dangerous games, wouldn't you?" She told him snidely. There was a part of her that was waiting for him to acknowledge that he had been beaten. There was a part of her that wanted to see him bow his head in recognition that he had been out played - that the old schemer had finally met his match and encountered a situation where all of his plotting and planning had failed. There was another part of her that had no intention of holding her breath. As nice as seeing the humiliation of admitting his loss would be, she did not require it. She could content herself quite nicely with his dead body lying at her feet. That would be a moment when it no longer mattered what the man did or did not acknowledge. She would still be standing; he would not. That was all that mattered in the end.

That did not stop her from hoping that when the time came his eyes would be left frozen open. She thought that there would be something poetic about that. It would be a final loss on his part where the last thing that he saw was a world without him. She relished the idea, but she did not have her heart set on it. His end was the important part; the means were mere details with which to amuse herself in quiet moments. The obnoxious smirk currently across his features was a temporary annoyance. That did not stop her from attempting to goad the man still seated in front of her.

"Do you find your predicament amusing?" She asked him in as aloof of a tone as she could manage.

The infuriating smirk never wavered as he raised his eyes to hers and allowed a soft, low chuckle to escape from him. She took a long breath in through her nose as she reviewed her gallery of mental images of the man's demise in order to calm the wave of fury that flowed through her as she watched the man laugh at her. He had no business laughing. She reminded herself that no matter what sort of a show he was putting on or what kind of a game that he thought that he was playing that she was the one that was in control. She was the one with the power now. It was her. It was no longer him. He could laugh all he wanted, and it would not change a thing.

"I find yours so," he answered just as she was turning to leave the room. She halted in spite of her intentions at the tone in his voice which screamed of someone who was on the verge of dangling information that he possessed that she did not. She allowed her head to turn as soon as she was sure that the expression on her face was securely unimpressed.

"You think you have this all planned and plotted. You think you have projected the trajectory and pushed everything into place exactly where you want it to be. You think you have a clear view of all of the pieces - that you know exactly how to drive them to move in the directions in which you want them to go." He sniffed in derision. "After decades shut away in your safe little hideaway, what do you know of intrigue? What do you know of how people can turn? What do you know of dealing with options and choices?" He shook his head at her, and she had the strangest sensation that the word amateur was hanging in the air unspoken between the two of them. She had other things to do with her time than listen to him insult her qualifications. She knew what she was doing. After all, she was the one that was going to be walking out of this room of her own volition. He was the one that was going to be drug out under guard to face his execution. She turned again to go, and she did not stop even as he continued to speak in the same low, even tone.

"You've overplayed your hand trying to ensure your desired outcomes. You've made things too obvious. You've been too overt. You have no subtlety. You have no finesse. You don't even have any charm. How you ever thought that this would end with you being crowned leader of a post Panem world is beyond my ability to comprehend. You've already lost, Alma. You just haven't noticed it yet."

She ignored him as she returned to the hallway letting the words stay confined by the distance as easily as the doors held the man speaking them at bay. She had other things to do with her time. She had better things to do with her time. She did not need to waste time or thought on the petty ramblings and attempts at head games of someone that had already been beaten. She knew what she was doing. She had already won - everything that remained was merely tying up loose ends and finalizing the trappings of her victory.

She did not have time to realize that the arrow had not lodged itself into Snow. She was so intently focused on what she just knew was going to happen (the fruition of all of her planning topped off with one grand moment of public victory) that she did not have time to register that the old man had been correct in his earlier words.